Bandits of Rome

by Bandits of Rome (retail) (epub)

  “He loved you, you know, though you were not even his. He just couldn’t cope with the knowledge that you were both his beloved wife’s most precious thing, and the cause of her death.”

  “I’m sorry, Pharnaces. Brother. I wondered, but was never sure. I should have treated you with more…kindness.”

  Pharnaces reached up to hold his brother’s hand, slave and free united in this moment on the edge of death. Then Pharnaces sighed, and the arm went limp. Quintus leaned over him, and wept.

  Chapter XXIV

  Severa apologised over and over again for letting Fabilla escape from the cellar. The willful girl had slipped the latch when no one was watching, and had gone to help. Now the little girl sat, face buried in Melanchaetes fur, motionless.

  Severa and Marsia tended the injured, with Theron and Thera handing out drinks and food. Curtius and Orobazes were dead. Vespillo was dizzy from his latest blow to the head, but otherwise unharmed, leading to some wry comments from Severa about the thickness of his skull. Sica’s abdominal wound had not penetrated beyond the muscle into the guts, and when Marsia had cleaned the area, rather too vigourously, and then poured the strongest wine they had onto the raw flesh, she had pronounced that Sica would live.

  Lutorius’ head had a lump the size of a duck egg on it from the club blow he received, but he had recovered quickly, and had retrieved Publius from the cellar, double checking his bonds, before taking great delight in telling him the outcome of the battle.

  Quintus now came face to face with Publius, and they gazed on each other with sadness.

  “I thought it was you,” said Publius. “I was so angry, that father had overlooked me. I always felt you were his favourite, though it made no sense to me. When I found the mask, with a dark curly hair of the type we Blaesus men sport on it, I believed you were Menelaus. I had no idea that Pharnaces was our brother.”

  “I’m sorry, Publius. For everything I have brought on this family, from the day I was born.”

  “You are blameless, brother. You always have been. That might be the most galling thing about all this.”

  “You know there is nothing I can do to help you, don’t you? Even if I wanted to?”

  Publius nodded, and looked down.

  Marsia tightened a bandage around Carbo’s cut ribs, pulling it tight, making Carbo groan. The slave looked up into Carbo’s eyes with concern, and more.

  “Why did you return, Quintus?” asked Carbo.

  Quintus looked embarrassed. “I went away for a few days. I did some drinking. Then I did some thinking. I thought about what I wanted. What I should take for myself, if I was a real man. I had just found my courage, and I had come to buy Marsia from you.”

  He looked at the slave girl, who was blushing furiously, avoiding his gaze. “I know you like me, Marsia,” he said. “But you love someone else more, and I could never compete with that. I was a fool to try.”

  Carbo looked between Marsia and Quintus, a puzzled frown on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Vespillo caught his eye and shook his head, and Carbo closed it again.

  “What will happen to my brother?” asked Quintus.

  Lutorius sighed. “He should be executed. Beheading, as befits his rank. But the victims didn’t have any connections or much wealth. With the right bribes, he will probably just be exiled. A small island in a remote province no doubt, with enough slave girls and wine to keep him occupied.”

  Lutorius looked like he had swallowed something sour.

  “There is one thing I don’t understand though,” said Vespillo. “When they ambushed us, in the square. When Carbo was captured. How did they know? The only people who knew our plan were myself, Carbo, Lutorius and Quintus. And I think we have all proven ourselves.”

  “The only free people, you mean,” said Marsia.

  Carbo looked at her, then round at Theron, who had frozen in the act of pouring a drink for Lutorius.

  “And the same one who told Blaesus about your plan, would be the same one who told him about your trip into town with Mistress Rufa,” said Marsia.

  Thera, who was holding a tray of flat breads, stared at Theron.

  “Father?” she said in a small voice.

  Theron looked at his daughter, face twisted in guilt and grief.

  “I had to,” he said. “I have known Blaesus a long time. Have passed him information about travellers all the time he has been a bandit.” He turned to Carbo, beseeching. “We needed the money. The farm brings in so little. But I didn’t betray you for money.”

  Carbo stood slowly and picked up a knife.

  “Master, please.”

  Carbo looked at the sticky dark fluid congealing along the edge of his blade. So much blood shed. He looked at the old man, who had sunk to his knees. The reason Carbo had gone to the mines. The reason Rufa was dead, Fabilla orphaned.

  “He said he was going to kill Thera,” begged Theron. Fabilla had walked over, and now stood beside Carbo, slipping her hand into his, staring at Theron with blank eyes.

  Carbo lifted the knife.

  Thera gasped. “No! Father!”

  “Rufa would have done the same,” pleaded Theron. “For her, for Fabilla, her mother would have done anything.”

  Anger, grief and guilt warred inside Carbo against a terrible weariness, a desperation to see the end of the violence.

  His fingers relaxed.

  The knife fell to the floor.

  Theron’s shoulders slumped in relief.

  Fabilla knelt down, picked up the knife, and plunged it into Theron’s heart. As he fell, Thera’s scream ringing through the air, she walked away from him without a backward glance. She knelt, and once more buried her face in Melanchaetes’ warm, still body.

  Asellio marched into the statio, confusion and anger warring inside him. The town was intact, and as he marched his men back through the streets, the citizens jeered them, threw rotten fruit and stones, and spat at them. He left a small guard party at the door, and accompanied by two of his stationarii, strode into his office, determined to make sense of what was happening.

  Carbo sat in his chair, feet up on the desk. Vespillo was rifling through a drawer, examining personal possessions. As Asellio watched, Vespillo held up a jewel-studded gold bracelet. “Look at this one, Carbo. Must be worth a fortune. I don’t remember being able to afford this sort of trinket on a centurion’s salary, do you?”

  “What in Hades are you doing?” roared Asellio. “Get out of my chair. Leave my belongings alone. I’ll have you arrested, flogged for… for…”

  “For what, centurion?”

  Asellio turned. He had not seen the figure standing behind the door when he entered. He blanched.

  “Tribune Gemellus? Why… what brings you here?”

  “I was informed there was some unrest. I thought I would see for myself how you were handling things. It appears you are serving the citizens of Nola by absenting yourself in their time of need.”

  “No, tribune, it’s not like that.” He was floundering, dread gripping him. He pointed at Carbo. “It’s his fault. That man stirred up the bandits, incited thugs to run amok. Actually I suspect he has conspired with them to destabilise the region, for his own profit. When I heard there was trouble, I marched my men straight back from the exercises I regularly put them through to keep them in top shape.” Asellio gestured to his men. “Arrest him!”

  “Do no such thing,” said Gemellus. “I think you and I should have a talk, Asellio. And if everything that Carbo and Vespillo tell me are true, I think we can safely conclude that your career will be… cut short.”

  “You can’t believe a word he says.”

  “Really? Why would I not believe the word of the best pilus prior I ever served with?”

  Carbo inclined his head at the compliment, then returned a hard stare to Asellio.

  “Besides, Carbo says your optio, Lutorius will confirm everything.”

  “Where is he, then? And where is my wife? They were having an affair,
you can’t believe what he says either.”

  “Ah yes, your wife. She has been very forthcoming too. Gave me a lot of details about your finances, which I found very interesting.”

  Now Asellio started to shake. He turned to his men, eyes appealing, but they faced forwards, avoiding his gaze.

  “As for newly promoted centurion Lutorius, I have given him a task of his own. You, guards. Put him in a holding cell, while he awaits trial on charges of corruption.”

  The two guards led the shocked Asellio away, somber faced and still studiously avoiding looking at him.

  Gemellus turned to Carbo and Vespillo.

  “Maybe you two amateurs could get the authorities involved at an earlier stage if you get wrapped up in something like this again, rather than trying to play the heroes.”

  Carbo grimaced. “I can assure you it was never my intention to play the hero. We thought the proper authorities were involved. I didn’t know how deeply Asellio was into this shit.”

  Gemellus nodded. “It’s good to see you again, Carbo. I’m going to return to my legion in the morning. What are your plans?”

  Carbo looked into his bleak future, and said nothing.

  The woman was tied to the stoning post, sobbing quietly. Her workgroup colleagues’ faces showed overwhelming relief and crushing shame, as they picked their rocks. They knew how this worked, had seen it before. She had to be dead by the last throw, or it would start again.

  They didn’t even think they had missed their quota. They had worked as hard as any other day, had been as exhausted as always. Maybe Durmius was bored. Or he was still angry about the escape of that Carbo fellow, curse him. The furious Durmius had made it horrific for everyone since that day, with increased quotas and arbitrary floggings, whippings and stonings. The slave population of the mines lived every moment in constant terror, a supplement to their normal anxiety, exhaustion and despair.

  A young girl picked up the first stone, tears running down her face, hand trembling violently. She looked at Durmius, who looked back coldly, one eyebrow raised at the delay. The girl pulled her arm back.

  The throw was feeble, the stone bouncing off the woman’s shoulder, causing her to yelp more in anticipation of injury than the pain itself. A burly slave, with a grizzled beard, shoved the girl roughly out of the way, and picked up the largest rock in the pile.

  He hefted it in his hand calculating the distance and the point on the woman’s body that would be most likely to kill her, most likely to end this quickly, and more importantly make sure that there was not another round of stoning with another one of them. He prepared to throw.

  “Stop!” came a commanding voice. “Put the stone down.”

  All turned at the newcomer striding towards the group, a soldier in centurion’s uniform, accompanied by half a dozen armed and armoured legionaries. The slave stared, dropped his stone in surprise.

  Durmius gawped at the intruders, and marched up to them.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing in my mines?”

  “Are you Durmius, the overseer of this establishment?”

  “I am. I ask again, who are you?”

  “Centurion Lutorius, on detachment from Nola. I carry orders from Tribune Gemellus for the arrest of Durmius the overseer, on charges of bribery, corruption, and illegal imprisonment of free Roman citizens. You are to be taken to Nola, where you will be tried with your confederates, Asellio the former centurion, and Zosimus the captain. Take him.”

  The legionaries stepped forward and grabbed him by both arms.

  “You can’t do this,” gasped Durmius. “Guards, help me. Stop them.”

  Some of the guards let their hands fall to clubs and knives, but Lutorius drew his gladius halfway from its scabbard, and the guards stepped back, hands away from their weapons.

  As Durmius was led away, a noise started up around the camp. Low at first, then building in volume. Lutorius looked around him. The noise came from hundreds of slaves. Cheering in delight, for the first time in a long, long time.

  EPILOGUE

  Carbo held the urn of ashes. It seemed too small to hold all the earthly remains of a human body. The local potter had made a decent job of his assignment. The handiwork was professional, the geometric pattern decorating it seemed symmetrical, and the handwriting on the insciption was neat. “To the spirits of the dead, Rufa, mother of Fabilla and beloved of Gaius Valerius Carbo.”

  He looked up, to see Fabilla watching him closely, wide eyes dark-rimmed from the nightmare-disturbed sleep Carbo knew she experienced.

  “Are we taking mother home?” she asked.

  Carbo nodded. Nola was no place for them now. He would hire a new steward, buy new slaves to work the farm. He had emancipated Thera, and Quintus had found her an apprenticeship as a seamstress in the town. The young girl had not thanked him, had not said a word to him or Fabilla, understandably, except to forbid them to attend her father’s funeral.

  Carbo placed the urn delicately in the cart with the rest of their luggage, making sure it was well-cushioned, and wouldn’t fall or tip. Then he turned to the small group of people gathered around.

  Quintus and Lutorius had come to see them off. He shook both of the men’s hands in turn, firmly, exchanging looks that needed no words. Quintus gave Carbo a half smile, that he knew covered up grief, guilt and shame. Lutorius’ smile was more heartfelt. Life was good for him now, promotion, prestige, and the woman he loved. Carbo tried not to resent him.

  Severa held Fabilla’s hand tightly. The maternal instinct there was strong, and he knew he would not have to raise Rufa’s daughter without help. Beside them stood Marsia and Sica. Carbo had requested Sica to be acknowledged as free with a quiet word to the town council, which they had quickly confirmed. Carbo had turned down all other gifts from the grateful people, despite suggestions of a festival and a monument in his name. He didn’t feel like he had much to celebrate.

  Vespillo patted Carbo on the shoulder. “Let’s get moving, or we won’t get many miles under our feet before it gets dark.”

  Carbo looked around, surveying the farm that was to have been his new home, his new start, with his new wife. He tried to picture his life without Rufa, and felt a wave of panic rising inside him. He took out a flask of unwatered wine, and took a long draught. The warmth of the drink calmed him a little. He shook his head, and set his sights on the road to Rome.

  Historical Notes

  Being condemned to the lead mines, damnatio ad metalla, was one of the worst punishments in the Roman Empire, a lingering death sentence. Mining was reportedly forbidden on the Italian peninsula, but central Italy was relatively mineral poor anyway. Most of the metal resources for Roman needs were met from outside Italy, particularly Spain and Britain, but also other parts of the Empire including Sicily.

  Pliny the Elder and Diodorus of Sicily gave detailed descriptions of Roman mining techniques, and Plutarch supplied the information that the rock pillars used to support the mines were not to be touched on penalty of death, though why anyone but a suicidal slave would do so is hard to understand. Pliny, Vitruvius, Diodorus and Livy mention fire cracking and vinegar. Although vinegar is unlikely to have been superior to any other cold liquid, it would have performed the task well, and this technique was used in mining until the invention of explosions. Hannibal may have known of the technique as Livy tells us he used it to blast a way through a blocked pathway in the Alps.

  Roman mines must have been truly hellish places. The heat forced miners to work naked or simply protected by a leather apron. They performed backbreaking labour for long hours in darkness and poor quality air, with the constant risk of death from collapse or suffocation, and the mortality rate must have been tremendous. Water accumulation was a constant problem, and the Egyptian screw invented by Archimedes is described by Diodorus and Vitruvius. Valuable slaves were never sent to the mines unless as a punishment.

  Banditry was a problem throughout the Roman Empire, with no real police force to combat
it. At different times the level of banditry and unlawfulness varied, and in Tiberius’ reign the Pax Romana meant the countryside was probably not desperately dangerous, allowing people to travel in some degree of safety. However, the ancient writers imply that banditry was ubiquitous, and certainly Rome had no way of ensuring the safety of travellers beyond what they could do for themselves, notwithstanding the detachments of soldiers sent to the provinces to maintain order known as the stationarii. Desperate men through history have always done whatever they needed to survive, and Rome had plenty of men outside society who needed crime to survive, such as escaped slaves and starving poor, as well as those who would rather choose a life of banditry than work for a living.

  The bandits in this book are of a slightly different ilk, being led by nobles. Noble Romans who commit crimes could escape punishment by going into voluntary exile. Exile was also the punishment imposed by the courts as an attempt to avoid capital punishment, and for a Roman who identified himself so much with the eternal city, this was actually a severe punishment in itself. I hope my readers can see how an exiled nobleman would feel both desperate to restore his former wealth, and to find a way to restore his dignitas and auctoritas, even anonymously.

  A glossary of the Latin terms used here will be available on my website, www.romanfiction.com

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to the numerous people who commented on parts or all of this work, in particular S. J. A. Turney, Jerome Wilson, Brandt Johnson, Paul Bennett, Robin Levin and Irene Hahn. Thanks to the Roman History Reading Group for listening to me during the writing process, and to our fearless leader Irene for running the group. Thanks to Ben Evans again for the professional and thorough editing work. Thanks as always to friends and family for supporting me.

  Alex Gough, Somerset, 2015

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